


My Dad, the Hero

by Sensue



Series: Suitcase of Memories [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Injury, Martial Arts, Psychic Abilities, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Caleb Reaves gets a lesson in taking people for granted when his father is injured during a hunt gone wrong.
Series: Suitcase of Memories [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887088
Kudos: 2





	My Dad, the Hero

[ ](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Whkr4EFrjRM/YAPPSxckpVI/AAAAAAAAAyA/SEkF0xPIjS8Vl7BrDCmdH4cnDtXZIHXAACLcBGAsYHQ/s0/mydadthehero_banner.jpg)

_1984  
Master Chen's House of Tai Chi Chuan_

Caleb Reaves stood in the back of the class, rolling his eyes at Master Chen as he coached them how to breathe and move. He followed the martial arts master half-heartedly, sighing.

"Feet separated. Breathe. Allow your body to relax. Keep your posture." Master Chen stood in front of the class, showing them how to breathe.

Caleb stopped, frowning. Leaning over, he whispered to a fellow student. "When are we going to learn how to kick butt?"

The master continued his breathing and movements, "Mr. Reaves, is there a problem?"

The youth bowed, as he was taught, before addressing Master Chen. "I was just wondering when we were going to learn how to fight. All we're doing is breathing." Caleb was incredibly irritated—he'd been so excited to find out that Mac had signed him up for a martial arts class; finally, a class that he _wanted to take_! But this class just taught him the same breathing techniques Mac forced him to practice every night before bed. He sighed again, this was obviously rigged.

The master was fluid; his movements were quick, yet powerful. "Are you the student? Or the master, Mr. Reaves?"

Caleb looked chagrined, "I'm the student, Master Chen. But this doesn't seem like martial arts. I mean, when do we learn how to kick and punch?"

The master opened his eyes and smiled at the impatience of youth. "Mr. Reaves, I am a fourth generation master of tàijíquán. And the first step to attaining harmony is breathing—you must relax until you are rooted."

"I don't get it." Caleb put his hands over his hips. "How does that help you fight?"

"You must concentrate on relieving the physical effects of stress on the body and mind. Again, it is the first step." The man stopped his movements, arching his eyebrow at the boy, Spock-like, "Would you rather I made you wax my car?"

The class erupted in fits of giggles. Some of the boys jumped up, yelling 'wax on, wax off.' Caleb had to laugh at that, although he'd been embarrassed by the Master. "No, Master—."

His words cut off abruptly as his mind was flooded with pain. He gripped his head with both hands, as he felt himself fall to the ground. A scream escaped his lips, even though he tried to stop it by biting his lips. Visions flashed through his mind so quickly he was unable to keep up with the images. Only one thing stood out, and it scared him to death; forcing him to call out, "Mac!"

Afterward, the residual of the vision had him shaking. He opened his eyes to see Master Chen kneeling in front of him, a phone in hand. "I'm calling an ambulance." The other students were watching fearfully from across the room—away from him—as if they could catch something by standing near him. One of the other masters had come to assist.

Caleb sat up, immediately wrapping his hands around his head to steady himself. "No! Please, I don't need an ambulance. Please, Master Chen. I'm fine. I just got a little dizzy. I just skipped my lunch today."

The man stared down at the boy, unsure. "I'm calling your father—you just lie there."

Master Chen watched the boy as he waited for the phone to pick up. It rang for over five minutes with no answer. "He's not picking up." He took a breath, making a decision. "I'm taking you to the hospital. I'll try to reach him from there. Class, Master Sun will take over. He's in charge."

"No. Master Chen." Caleb's cries were ignored. The small Chinese man was incredibly strong and picked him up as if he were a baby. "Please, I don't want to go. I'm fine."

"Mr. Reaves, you had what looked to be a _seizure_ in my class. It would be irresponsible and unwise for me not to take you to the hospital." The man strapped him into his car, making sure the seatbelt was tight before gently placing a cloth on his lip. "You're bleeding. You must've bitten your lip."

Caleb pulled the cloth away, surprised to see the red stain. He hadn't even known that he was bleeding. He hit his head against the headrest of the car as it sped towards the closest hospital. "Shit…" he swore.

Master Chen literally had to drag the boy through the doors of the Emergency Room. Caleb dragged his feet the whole time, trying to escape from the martial arts master. Chen just gripped his arm as they made their way to the front desk. "Excuse me, Ma'am. We need help."

The nurse at the front desk looked completely disheveled: a phone in one ear, a pen in her mouth, and an angry yelling doctor at her back. She held up a finger, the universal 'wait' sign, then pointed to a clipboard on the desk. "Fill that out. Someone will be with you shortly."

The man stared at her, then the form. He took the clipboard, then grumbled, "I hate this country," under his breath.

Caleb took the opportunity to wriggle out from under the man's arm. He ran towards the door but stopped when a familiar voice called out his name. Whirling around, he saw Cullen Ames standing by the admission desk talking to a doctor.

"Grandpa?" Caleb looked confused but ran over to his grandfather. "What are you doing here?"

The older man covered his trembling lips; he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A moment later, _after Caleb's heart had stopped,_ he gave the boy a small smile and brokenly spoke to him. "Caleb, your father…"

Blood flew out of Caleb's face, "No!" He panicked, wanting to get out of the hospital. He didn't want to hear it! He didn't want it to be true—the vision wasn't supposed to come true. He almost made it back to the front door but was held tightly by Master Chen.

Cullen ran over to them. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around the squirming boy. "Caleb. He's alive…but, he's hurt badly." Tears were pooled in his grandfather's eyes. "They—the doctors aren't sure if he'll make it. But we know better. We know how strong he is." He lifted his eyes to the Chinese Master. "Thank you. I think that I have things covered. Thank you for bringing him."

Master Chen gave him a small bow. "I'm sorry—I'm confused. I brought Caleb here because he collapsed in my classroom. I had no idea that his father was in the hospital."

Cullen looked surprised, "I'll make sure that he's checked over by a doctor as well. Again, thank you." He dismissed the teacher and walked back to the doctor with Caleb under his arm.

"Dr. Morris, this is my grandson, Caleb. I would like him to visit his father—before you take him to surgery…please." Cullen held his hand as if it were the only thing keeping him together. Caleb looked up at him, frightened. His breathing quickened as they neared the room where his father lay.

The boy wanted nothing more than to leave, but his efforts were blocked by his grandfather, who stood at his back and had his arms wrapped securely around his waist. "Caleb, please. Just look at him. He needs us right now. He needs to know we're with him."

Caleb looked up. A cry escaped as he saw the blood, equipment, and tubes that covered almost every inch of the man who'd taken him in. Cullen pulled him closer and patted his son's hand before leaning over to kiss the top of his head. Tears streamed down his face and onto his son's. "You get better, son. We love you." He focused his attention on Caleb, "You can touch him, son. You won't hurt him."

Caleb reached out a shaking hand towards Mac's wrist. He held it tightly in his hand and tried to focus his energy. He pulled it away after a few minutes, crying. "I don't feel anything."

Cullen stared at the boy in understanding. He licked his lips, then shook his head. "Try again, son. He's in there. I know he is. Just try again." He held out his hand and waited for Caleb to take it. Gently, he placed it on top of Mackland's, careful of the intravenous lines and tubing. "Just breathe and focus."

Nodding, Caleb did as he was told. After a few seconds, he gasped in surprise. "You're right, grandpa. He's still there. He's not gone." He stared up in wonder at the old man. "How did you know?"

A slight smile appeared, "Faith."

They sat quietly for a few minutes both trapped in their own thoughts. They stood there holding Mac's hands until a group of orderly's came in. "Sir, we need to take him up to surgery now."

Cullen nodded, weary. He held out his hand for Caleb to take as they watched them wheel his son out the door. "We should get you to see a doctor now, Caleb."

"Grandpa, I swear. I'm fine. It was nothing. Just— _what happened_?"

Grandpa shook his head, "I don't know." He turned away, glaring at two men waiting at the end of the hall. He pointed at them, "They said that it was an _accident_! That Mackland had been helping them at a construction site and he'd fallen off a platform! I don't understand this, Caleb. Your father doesn't know anything about construction work…why would he volunteer to help them?" The older man held his head in a hand, shaking it in confusion.

Caleb shook his head, "I don't know, grandpa…" He stared at the men until one of them came into focus. He gasped.

Cullen tiredly lifted his head, "You know him?"

"I've seen him before," Caleb responded. The men had noticed him. "Grandpa, I'll be right back. Okay?"

He didn't wait for an answer before striding over to one of the men in anger. "You!" Caleb didn't hesitate; he punched the man in the gut and then tried to kick him.

The kick had been blocked before making contact with the fallen man's nuts. "Caleb! Stop this!"

The boy whirled around, his mouth dropping open in shock and surprise. "Pastor Jim?"

"What the hell, kid? Do I look like a punching bag?" The burly man pulled himself up off the ground, before fixing his cap.

"You were there!" Caleb screamed, "You were there when my dad was hurt! I saw you!"

Pastor Jim gripped Caleb by the arms, shaking him slightly to get his attention. "Caleb, this is incredibly important. Did you see where it went?"

Caleb looked at the pastor, puzzled, "What!?"

"You said that you saw the attack? You saw what attacked your father?" Pastor Jim reiterated.

"Yeah."

The man in the cap jumped in, "Then you can tell us where it went."

Caleb looked at him with distrust, "Why should I tell you anything? I don't even know who you are."

Pastor James Murphy took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "Caleb. This man is a friend of your father's. His name is Bobby Singer and he was working with us when your father was attacked. Caleb, it's incredibly important. We need to know what you _saw_."

He looked at them with distrust. "I saw lots of things…" He crossed his arms across his chest, then smirked at them. "I'll tell you. But first, I want to know what happened! The truth!"

"Jim, we ain't got time for this bullshit! We gotta hunt that thing down before someone gets killed! We don't got time to be playing with some kid!" Bobby Singer swore, pacing through the hall.

"Bobby," Jim warned, "We aren't going back into a situation unprepared. Caleb can help us." He stared the boy down. "You will help us? Won't you, Caleb?"

He nodded in agreement. "Alright. Caleb, I'll be honest. Your father –he's a _hunter_. He hunts down things that are…supernatural in origin. Things that are evil and hurt people."

"Like the thing that hurt me in the hospital?" Caleb questioned.

The men stared at each other for a few seconds, silently communicating. "Yeah, kid. And your ol' man, he's one of the good guys. Like us. He's a hero. He works with us."

Pastor Jim continued, "Mackland usually works in research; on occasion, he works in the field. He was helping Bobby and I track down a very dangerous spirit. It's incredibly strong and fast. We need to find it, Caleb, before someone else gets hurt. Do you know where it is?"

Caleb closed his eyes, trying to remember the flashes. "I saw a—I don't, it looked like a sign with a monkey on it? It was dark, an alley. It smelled."

The two older men stared at each other, "What'd it smell like, kid?"

"Puke."

Bobby rolled his eyes at the kid. "Puke, huh?" He blinked a few times, thinking. "Like beer?"

Caleb bit his lip in concentration, then nodded. "Yeah, like beer."

Bobby nodded. "I know where it is."

Pastor Jim stood up, pulling himself taller. "Alright, Bobby. Call Griffin and take him with you. The spirit is attracted to psychic energy. See if Griffin can lure it in, and then you take it out." The man nodded, striding out.

Caleb jerked, "Wait. I'm coming with you!" He moved as if to follow.

Bobby twisted, "Kid. You are not coming with me!"

Pulling back his shoulders, Caleb rose on his heels. "Yes, I am! I want to help."

Pastor Jim came up to him, "Caleb-."

"No! I'm coming." He fought.

Bobby lost all of his patience. "Kid, listen up! 'cause I'm only going to say this once. That spirit hunts people with psychic energy. Now, your dad? He's one of the best: best psychic, best hunter out there; hands down. That thing, it almost killed him! Now, you—you're powerful. There's no doubt about that. But you aren't trained. You don't know anything about the world out there—and from the way that Mac talks about you—you ain't that interested in learnin' So, there's no way in hell that I'm taking you along with me, kid. At this point, you ain't nothing but a liability." He pushed the boy away, "Now, go!"

Caleb looked to the pastor for assurance that the man was lying. Instead, the pastor looked apologetic but unyielding. "I'm sorry, Caleb." He put a hand on the youngster's shoulder, before motioning to Bobby to go.

Caleb jerked away from the pastor, upset. "Why?"

Jim gripped his cross tightly in his hand before answering. "Bobby's right. His words may be cruel, son—but he speaks the truth."

"I don't understand…"

Jim stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick away. "When you came into Mackland's life; it was assumed that he would train you. You have such potential, Caleb…but you seem _unwilling_ to train. Mac has tried everything and while you have made _some_ progress, you resist his efforts to teach you how to control your gifts. He took you in—he, Caleb, he _loves you_. He didn't want you to hate him, so he allowed you to continue at your own pace…He didn't want to pressure you."

A shuddering breath shook the small body, "He told you that?"

Pastor Jim smiled, "Caleb, my boy, he talks about nothing and no one else." He looked back at the clock. "He saved my life today, son." Jim reached into his pocket; Caleb spotted a flash of silver before Jim encompassed the metal in his hand. "He jumped in front of me when the spirit attacked. He's a good man; he'll be a good Scholar." Pastor Jim let the sentence trail off quietly, the last part barely heard.

"My dad's a hero." It was whispered. "He saved my life too."

Jim gave the boy a pat on the back. "Perhaps, when he wakes, you can tell him that."

Caleb's eyes filled with tears. "I will."

Pastor Jim gone to assist the other hunters, leaving Caleb with his grandfather. Cullen sat pale-faced and nervously staring at the clock in the surgical area waiting room. He'd become jittery over the last few hours, the lack of sleep, too much caffeine, and stress eating away at him. Caleb sat next to him on the couch, resting his head against Cullen's shoulder as he re-read the same page of "The Three Musketeers" over and over; unable to remember where he'd left off a minute ago.

Cullen stared at the book, "It was very kind of Mr. Chen to bring you your schoolbag."

"Yeah." Caleb agreed quietly, his voice barely heard.

Cullen adjusted their positions, letting the boy's head rest on his thighs instead. "Why don't you lie down? Get comfortable…it'll be hours before we know anything…"

Caleb rested against his grandfather, trying to relax, but only becoming more anxious. "Are you reading that in school?" Cullen pointed at the book, before letting his hand rest against the boy's brown hair. Unconsciously, he started a stroking pattern through the soft strands.

"No." Caleb let his hands run across the spine of the book, tracing patterns on the cover. "Mac gave it to me. It was the first thing that he gave to me."

"It's my favorite book." Cullen mentioned, "I used to read that book to him, as a bed-time story. I—uh—after my wife passed..." He licked his lips, "She passed giving birth to your father. You see, I loved her very much. And after—It was hard for me to know what to do. Many days, I would hide myself away in my office—he—he reminded me _so much_ of her…I wasn't always there for him. But, every night when he was a boy—I would read to him. It was only time that I spent with him as a father."

Tears crept out behind closed lids, "Mac reads me to me every night—and he's always there for me. He's a good dad, grandpa…" He started choking on sobs. "And I never told him. I never even got the chance to call him 'Dad'. I was afraid-."

The hand never stopped softly stroking his hair. "Why were you afraid, son?"

"Because everyone I ever loved is dead. And I was afraid…that if I let myself love Mac, he'd die too."

Suddenly, Caleb felt warm droplets fall on his hair. He looked up to see his grandpa covering his face as he cried. "Grandpa?" Caleb sat up and hugged him.

"Oh, Caleb. I'd been afraid of the same thing—but, you know what, son? I lost so much time with him thinking that way… _afraid_ to let myself love him—to get close to him. By the time I realized how _stupid_ I was to think that way, I'd almost lost him. Son, please—learn from my mistakes. Don't be afraid to love him. I know that he loves you."

Caleb nodded against his grandfather's chest, crying. "He does, doesn't he? He loves me even though I tell him that I hate him, and when I screw up, and I cause trouble and I never listen to him."

"Yes, son. Love is unconditional with Mackland. There are no strings. He loves _me_ —even though I was never there for him as a boy. He let me help him through one of the most difficult times in his life—he could've just thrown me out of his life…but he didn't. He didn't—and now, he's given me _you_."

"Me?" Caleb pulled back, wiping at his nose with his shirt sleeve. Cullen slapped his hand lightly, then handed him a handkerchief.

"He—uh—if anything happens to him," he swallowed hard, "he wanted me to have you."

"You mean…I wouldn't go back to a juvie center?" He was surprised; he never considered what would happen to him if the worst happened.

Cullen gripped him tightly, "Of course, not. You're our family now. You belong to us."

"So, it's like the God-father, huh? Once I'm in, I can never leave." Caleb gave a small smile.

"Damn straight." Cullen pounded his fist on the couch. "You're not going to escape that easily."

Caleb twisted in the seat and lay back down on his grandfather's legs. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking. "Grandpa, did I tell him 'thank you'?"

Cullen slid back against the cushions, "When was that?"

"At my birthday party? When he gave me…" Caleb wiped at his face again, sniffling, "When he gave me my mom's painting? I remember that I was really shocked. But, I don't remember if I said, 'thank you' later. You know, once I got over the surprise…"

"I think that he knows, son."

"Yeah, but did I tell him? I mean, did I thank him for _anything_?"

"God-willing, son, you'll have plenty of time to tell him when he wakes up. And, so will I."

Dr. Mackland Ames gradually woke. His eyes blinked back tears from the harsh lights of the fluorescent bulbs of the hospital. He tried to take account of his limbs and almost panicked when he couldn't move.

Mac flashed back to years earlier after he'd woke from a three-month coma—panicked, unable to move because his limbs had atrophied and his body was broken. He'd opened his eyes to see his father, sitting beside his bed; tears of joy were on his face and he'd called him a miracle.

Before he could attempt to call out to someone, a gentle hand brushed his forehead. "It's alright, Mackland. You're going to be just fine."

His throat was dry and sore, but he forced his voice to croak out, "Dad?"

"Yes, it's me, son." Cullen stood up and reached for the cup of ice-chips by the bed. He scooped up a couple of the chips, and then fed them to his son. "This should help your throat."

Mac gave him a half-smile, appreciating the thought. "Dad," Mac groaned, "I can't move…"

Cullen laughed his voice light and carefree, now that his son was out of the woods. "That's because your son has literally glued himself to your side."

Mac turned his head, and found that Caleb was sleeping on top of him; his limbs tangled up on top of him—as if he were a teddy bear. "He wanted to stay with you until you woke up. No one was going to stop that boy—let me tell you. He fought the doctors, the nurses, the aids—everyone who walked in the room and told him that he wasn't supposed to be here. I told him that he could sleep on the other bed," he arched his neck towards the empty bed next to his, "but he refused. Next thing I know, he's crawled in next to you and then fell asleep. I tried to move him off of you, but he kept throwing his arms and legs around you—as if you'd run off if he weren't looking."

Cullen sat back down in the chair next to the bed. "You scared the both of us. We were at our wit's end, Mackland. Don't do it again."

Now that he knew what—or who his immobility was caused by, Mac was able to slide out his right arm and pull Caleb closer to him. "How was he, Dad?"

"He was terrified. He was afraid that your accident was his fault. He blamed himself…" Cullen stared at his son for a while. "He's a special boy, Mackland."

"Yes, he is, Dad." Mac ran his hand down his son's back, rubbing it slightly. "Very special."

"I'm glad you brought him into our lives. I think—he belongs to us. I don't think that I could love him more than if he were your own child."

"In my eyes, Dad, he is mine."

Cullen smiled, a twinkle in his eye, "He looks like me, though. I'm the handsome one."

Mac laughed, immediately grabbing his ribs and groaning. "Ouch."

The shudders woke Caleb, who immediately jumped out of bed. "Dad! You're awake." He threw himself on the injured man, who responded in return by hugging him tightly—pain be damned.

"Dad?" Mac stared at the boy in his arms, "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you call me that, Caleb."

Caleb sat back, tears in his eyes, "It is, but I promise you, Dad—it's not going to be the last. I love you."

Mac swallowed hard against the lump that suddenly lodged in his throat before answering, "I love you too, son."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Ridley C. James. She was kind enough to give me a little bit more information on Mac and Cullen.


End file.
